


What a Glorious Feeling

by esplanade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M, Romance, alcohol can be used for cute things instead of sad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esplanade/pseuds/esplanade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire is drunk and has watched far too many classic movies, and it is turned to adorable results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Glorious Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> We interrupt your usual Sherlock fic for this:  
> So my friend [goddammitamy](http://goddammitamy.tumblr.com) and I were talking about [this perfect fanart](http://jaimesstump.tumblr.com/post/53871772753/a-pair-of-idiots) by [jaimesstump](http://jaimesstump.tumblr.com) and so we sat around talking about how Grantaire would be a movie nut and how this fanart reminded us of Singin' in the Rain.  
> And I had to take a break from the serious things I've been writing lately and write something fluffy because this art is too cute.  
> This ship is so painful it needs something happy.  
> Ssshhhhhh just let me have this one.

Grantaire had come to the meeting, of course, as he always did. But as was also the norm, he paid hardly any attention.

Enjolras had watched him all night as he drank, never enough to be blackout drunk, but certainly enough to dull his senses and make him leap at the chance to tease Marius when he began mooning over Cosette. Although Enjolras thought that sometimes his mock romantic tangents weren't quite as mocking as he intended them to be. Tonight's had been almost sincere, and, Enjolras thought, said more about Grantaire than Marius.

When they all left for the night, Grantaire quietly slipped into step with Enjolras as he walked home.

Enjolras didn't have the heart to get rid of him. He was going on about some new film he had seen the other day while he was at work in the theatre. Something called _The Artist_. He had been rambling about its nostalgia and “creative elegance” for quite a while.

“For a cynic you certainly love the sentimentality of the movies,” Enjolras said.

“They're better than the real world, Apollo.”

“Don't call me that.”

Grantaire smirked at him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. His eyes had a glaze across them from the night of drinking, which made him less guarded, less bitter than he would have been otherwise. Expressions like that made Enjolras sadder than anything. All that wasted potential, all that unfortunate absence of belief. He wondered sometimes if Granatire was more like his true self, more honest, after a certain number of drinks. That thought made him even sadder.

“You have to admit, though. Films can be culturally relevant. Surely even you have some you enjoy. Great and fearless leader like you, I bet you're one for big grand sweeping movies, tales of bravery and valor!” Grantaire let out a sharp bark of a laugh as they turned off the Pont Neuf bridge onto the Quai de Conti.

“You are going to wake up the entire city if you keep on like that.”

Grantaire was a few paces ahead of him, constantly spinning back around to meet his eyes, swirling in his steps like he might float away at any second. “I hope I wake them up! They miss so much staying safely in their houses all night anyway,” he said with a fiendish sort of grin.

“I never believed I'd say it, but don't you think you're being a tad idealistic?”

Grantaire stopped in front of him, poking him in the chest with a finger. “Just because I believe the world is a terrible place doesn't mean I can't hope it will change.” It might have been biting had it not been spoken with the slightest slur.

Enjolras felt the pressure of his finger against his coat and said, “And you talk about me and my convictions.”

The reply broke Grantaire's momentary serious turn, and he whirled back out in front, making three full circles before stopping suddenly, nearly falling over in the process. He was staring in awe at a lamp post like it held the answers to all of life's important questions.

“Grantaire, are you all right?”

Without answering, Grantaire set off, looking positively delighted as he leaped up, grabbing the post with one hand, his foot balancing precariously on its base a few feet off the ground. The ill-fitting coat he wore over his usual green hoodie billowed out around him, and he threw his head back, laughing. It was perhaps the happiest Enjoras had ever seen him, his free arm outstretched and a wide smile on his face.

Enjolras slowly approached the lamp post, crossing his arms over his chest and observing Grantaire with both scrutiny and confusion. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I never take advantage of these lamp posts, and that's terrible of me. You should always take advantage of lamp posts.”

After a long pause of watching Grantaire try to spin himself around the lamp post, Enjolras finally gave in and asked, “Why? Why should you take advantage of lamp posts?”

Instead of giving him an answer, he started singing at the top of his lungs, “ _I'm singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again!_ ”

Enjolras stared up at him, puzzled. “...But it's not raining, Grantaire.”

“I don't care!” And he resumed singing, “ _I'm laughing at clouds! So dark up above!_ ”

“You really are going to wake people up. You're acting wild.”

Grantaire swung himself down low so that he was barely still holding on to the post, his face level with Enjolras. He sang softer, a dreamy expression in his half-open eyes. “ _The sun's in my heart, and I'm ready for love._ ”

Enjolras pulled back ever so slightly at the unexpected lyric, his face flushing. “You are going to fall off that lamp post.” Grantaire righted himself, but barely. He clutched the cold post with both arms, leaning his cheek against it, mumbling his way through the rest of the verse like he would fall asleep there with his arms wrapped protectively around his lamp post.

Suddenly his eyes came alive again, and he jumped down to the ground, his feet making a loud smack on the pavement. He got up close to Enjolras' face and said seriously and emphatically, “I need an umbrella.”

“Why? Everything's dry.”

“No, you don't understand! I need an umbrella to _dance with_!” He gestured with his hands as if this were the most important thing in the world.

After a long pause, Enjolras said, “Do you even know how to dance?”

“That's beside the point! Gene Kelly knows how!”

“Who?”

“See, this is why you need to watch something besides _Schindler's List_ or _Citizen Kane_ , Apollo. God it's awful to have a lamp post and no umbrella. And a clear night, too! I need rain!”

“You are _beyond_ drunk.”

Grantaire ignored him, leaping back up on his lamp post. It was almost endearing, how joyous he looked. Enjolras was so accustomed to seeing him look morose that he couldn't hold back a smile at seeing him so elated, and over something so simple, too.

After a few minutes, Grantaire's head began to spin a little, and the ground looked farther away than it had a moment ago.

“I am going to fall off this lamp post, aren't I?”

Enjolras shook his head and held both of his hands up. “Come on, let's try and get you down from there without you getting a concussion in the process.” Grantaire lazily ran his eyes over Enjolras' hands, not looking very convinced that if he let go that he wouldn't fall to his death. He tentatively reached out one hand and laid it in Enjolras', and when nothing terrible happened, he extended the other. Gripping them as tightly as he could, he carefully hopped down to the ground, and felt much more stable once he had pavement underneath his feet.

Grantaire stared at the ground for a while, and Enjolras felt a creeping worry that he was about to pass out. He kept hold of his hands, and finally Grantaire looked up at him. Some of the alcoholic haze had cleared from his eyes, and he was smiling without a hint of the usual condescending sarcasm he generally assumed.

“What?” Grantaire said nothing, but loosened his grip on Enjolras' hands ever so slightly, winding their fingers together. “Grantaire –” He was silenced, taken off guard by a stolen kiss before Grantaire pulled Enjolras into an improvised dance that mostly involved Grantaire using Enjolras as a convenient center around which to spin. Enjolras was still caught in ten seconds ago, the faintest taste of wine on his lips. “What are you doing?”

“ _Dancin' in the rain!_ ”

“Grantaire!”

That last prompting made Grantaire skid to a halt on the pavement, swaying as he moved his hands, hanging them around Enjolras' neck and leaving Enjolras having not a clue what to do with his own freed hands, which hovered awkwardly in the little space between them before Enjolras let them settle on Grantaire's waist. “It still isn't raining, though,” he said.

And in a voice little more than a purr, he replied:

“And you're not an umbrella. But I suppose you'll have to do.”


End file.
